


when ur computer breaks and you write

by epistaxiophilia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Other, i have a craving that only hands will suffice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8270239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epistaxiophilia/pseuds/epistaxiophilia
Summary: i'm taking writing prompts and this is where i'm putting them. i'm trying to make them exactly 1000 words each because that's funny to me. chapter title will have pairing, chapter summary will have whats what. no porn yet but y'know it's comin. no beta, minimal proofreading.





	

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (quiet moments between battles w/ mccree & hanzo(edited)  
> since the brawl is waves of enemies :>)

   He sees the Gunslinger’s approach, their short time together and his history making it unsurprising when he stands a bit closer than he might appreciate. The surprise comes in time, however, when he thumbs a finger over to the bridge of his nose- an open wound sprawled across it; alongside with a few others on the rest of his face. There’s no flinch- only eyes that flick upwards in defiance to his audacious action. Undeterred, he pulls back his hand to glance over the blood that coats the tip of a digits now, before rubbing off across the Archer’s cheek.

   The small lesions on his face were the least of his concerns. Scored knuckles, bruised ribs, a particularly annoying patch of skinned flesh on his thigh. A stretch across his forearm where he strung himself with his bow on a bad shot. The Gunslinger shared some of this himself, rough in his fingers the same, mechanical or not. Covered in his outfit, it’s hard to see where he’d been taking bruise, but weary in his eyes, the Archer can see it plain enough. It’s late in the night.

   There’s no audible complaint when he sits down beside him, them both now sat upon a makeshift bench of broken cobblestone wall. They’re none comforted by the sounds of howling in the petrifying night. A metal boot scrapes across the ground as he shifts, nervous; when he outstretches his hands to flex in inspection in that same nervous habit, he scowls as the Gunslinger again has the audacity to touch him, collecting the injured fingers in his own and plying them curiously. He wouldn’t have expected such a gentle action capable in the prosthetic the Gunslinger had, but it doesn’t hurt. If not for the cold, he wouldn’t guess it was synthetic with closed eyes.

   “ You gonna shoot all night like this?”

   “ As it is. What else would I do.”

   “ Sure the Alchemist could do somethin’. Ain’t getting in my way, not like you flickin’ out your wrist.” A sharp one, him. The tone isn’t mocking towards his little.. accident, but the fact he took notice to it heightens his ire. The Archer reaches for his flask instead of responding further, giving it a solid gulp and staring sidelong to the other man in challenge. “ Thought you were waitin’ till the end of the night for that, you gonna just leave me high and dry.”

   “ It’s tempting.”, but when he lowers it from his own face, he offers it. What’s fair is fair. “ Unless, of course, you think it might ruin your aim.”

   “ Oh, I should hold you to the same standard.!”, and he laughs, takes his share. “ … Should be up and about again soon. Waits get shorter every time ‘fore the Reaper shows up.”

   “ The sun will be up soon.”

   “ Fair ‘nuff. Well how’s about this.”

   “ Hmn?”

   “ What’re you going home too.”

   It paints a picture in his mind of pink that falls with the wind, sweet scenting the air with months of flourished life. Rows of houses on the hillside like dots of anthills spot between swathes of grass and flowers. Wet earth between your toes, sinking the feeling of summer rain into your legs. A single person, more distantly and forgotten, hiding somewhere in the brush. “ Somewhere much brighter than this. I can only hope once this settles into the night, nothing similar could come to it.”

   The Gunslinger huffs a laugh under his breath, having waited a few patient moments for the Archer to think fondly of old surroundings, and receiving such an undescribing response. How can he blame him, however? Maybe when it’s said and done come morning, he could coax out a bit more friendliness. If neither of them just spooked off immediately.

   “ And you?”

   Well serves him right for asking and not expecting to get asked back. While the Archer mused with eyes lowered and contemplative, the other furrows his brows, wrinkles the skin above his nose.

   He thinks of bright, hot, dry, the sheer opposite of life. Burning sands and pillars of rock. A coyote screaming to the moon and his brethren, unaffected by the opposing chill of night. His hideout, for that day, though all the same as any other, musky and dark from boarded windows. In practice and of nostalgia, he loves it all the same as the Archer might love his unspoken pink trees and rain. “ Ah, well, can’t say it’s /that/ much better than this,” He feigns how terrible it is, joking in his tone, “ But it’s where I live, so I guess it works.”

   For a second the Archer thinks to scold him for being so callous, but his expression of distaste fades with thought, and his gaze settles to the ground again. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to bring up in the first place.

   Again, he feels his fingers snatched from their balled up place upon his thigh, and again the offending man receives a look of confusion and irritation. “ Y’aint gonna help much if you pull them like that.”, them being his knuckles, he’s pulled the wounds open from scabs at the edges.

   “  Do you often pick at things like a mother hen?”

   “ Well, if I ain’t doin’ it, the miss over there sure will when she catches yah. More like a mother… goose.” He gives him a wink, pressing at each digit softly above the wound with the cool mechanical fingers of his own. “ You wouldn’t prefer her, I think.”

   .. She seems nice, but yes, maybe a bit overbearing. More mother-y. He’s thankful that she’s off pestering the last of their quartet after he’d been the most rambunctious to off himself between the four of them. “ Alright then, Gunslinger, I’ll take what I receive in stride.”

   That was, it was almost friendly. It’s as close as he’s getting tonight, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> microsoft word says its 1k words so i'm going with that >:Y


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